She never left the line; and about midnight she was over
the "city of light," which merits its name even when its inhabitants
are asleep or ought to be.

By what strange whim was it that she was stopped over the city of
Paris? We do not know; but down she came till she was within a few
hundred feet of the ground. Robur then came out of his cabin, and the
crew came on to the deck to breathe the ambient air.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans took care not to miss such an excellent
opportunity. They left their deck-house and walked off away from the
others so as to be ready at the propitious moment. It was important
their action should not be seen.

The "Albatross," like a huge coleopter, glided gently over the mighty
city. She took the line of the boulevards, then brilliantly lighted
by the Edison lamps. Up to her there floated the rumble of the
vehicles as they drove along the streets, and the roll of the trains
on the numerous railways that converge into Paris. Then she glided
over the highest monuments as if she was going to knock the ball off
the Pantheon or the cross off the Invalides. She hovered over the two
minarets of the Trocadero and the metal tower of the Champ de Mars,
where the enormous reflector was inundating the whole capital with
its electric rays.

This aerial promenade, this nocturnal loitering, lasted for about an
hour. It was a halt for breath before the voyage was resumed.

And probably Robur wished to give the Parisians the sight of a meteor
quite unforeseen by their astronomers. The lamps of the "Albatross"
were turned on. Two brilliant sheaves of light shot down and moved
along over the squares, the gardens, the palaces, the sixty thousand
houses, and swept the space from one horizon to the other.

Assuredly the "Albatross" was seen this time--and not only well seen
but heard, for Tom Turner brought out his trumpet and blew a rousing
tarantaratara.

At this moment Uncle Prudent leant over the rail, opened his hand,
and let his snuff-box fall.

Immediately the "Albatross" shot upwards, and past her, higher still,
there mounted the noisy cheering of the crowd then thick on the
boulevards--a hurrah of stupefaction to greet the imaginary meteor.

The lamps of the aeronef were turned off, and the darkness and the
silence closed in around as the voyage was resumed at the rate of one
hundred and twenty miles an hour.

This was all that was to be seen of the French capital. At four
o'clock in the morning the "Albatross" had crossed the whole country
obliquely; and so as to lose no time in traversing the Alps or the
Pyrenees, she flew over the face of Provence to the cape of Antibes.
At nine o'clock next morning the San Pietrini assembled on the
terrace of St. Peter at Rome were astounded to see her pass over the
eternal city. Two hours afterwards she crossed the Bay of Naples and
hovered for an instant over the fuliginous wreaths of Vesuvius. Then,
after cutting obliquely across the Mediterranean, in the early hours
of the afternoon she was signaled by the look-outs at La Goulette on
the Tunisian coast.

After America, Asia! After Asia, Europe! More than eighteen thousand
miles had this wonderful machine accomplished in less than
twenty-three clays!

And now she was off over the known and unknown regions of Africa!

It may be interesting to know what had happened to the famous
snuff-box after its fall?

It had fallen in the Rue de Rivoli, opposite No. 200, when the street
was deserted. In the morning it was picked up by an honest sweeper,
who took it to the prefecture of police. There it was at first
supposed to be an infernal machine. And it was untied, examined, and
opened with care.

Suddenly a sort of explosion took place. It was a terrific sneeze on
the part of the inspector.

The document was then extracted from the snuff-box, and to the
general surprise, read as follows:

""Messrs. Prudent and Evans, president and secretary of the Weldon
Institute, Philadelphia, have been carried off in the aeronef
Albatross belonging to Robur the engineer.""